Moving on (and Getting Over)
by high-seas-swan
Summary: "Ios' image has long been linked to holiday sun, sea, and sex, with a reputation for nonstop booze-fueled partying." In which Killian thinks this is a terrible idea and Will does not. ("How can it be any worse than your last decision?" Unfortunately, Killian can't argue with that.) And Emma well, she thinks she's going there to relax. They are all a little wrong and a little right.


Subconsciously, Killian had known at the time it was a poor decision. He supposes, consciously, he'd known as well. How could he not, with his best friend making it _very_ clear.

("You're a fucking idiot. This is a terrible idea," Will had provided succinctly. He'd promptly ignored his friend's blunt assessment, and proceeded with the purchase, anxious to surprise Milah.)

He'd honestly hoped the extravagant trip would be received as a grand romantic gesture, that it would soothe the rough patch they'd been going through but then -

("I'm married, Killian.")

( _Oh._ )

("I'm sorry. I-" Milah had trailed off, tears in her eyes.)

("That's…" his words escaped him. His heart as well.)

("I'll always love you.")

("And I love you, no matter what. We can,-" He'd hurried to assure her, but she'd interrupted him.)

("I have a son. He needs me and we, we can't do this anymore.")

( _Oh._ )

("You deserve to be happy too, Milah. You deserve the world." She'd let him cup her face. She'd let him kiss her one last time.)

("Maybe someday but for now, it's you who deserves more.")

(She wouldn't hear any more reasoning.)

So Killian Jones is left with a bank of vacation time saved up, credits for a trip he no longer wishes to take (I'm sorry sir, those flights are not refundable, _of course_ ) and an overall morose disposition that he is loath to shake off, even months later.

Killian drops his elbow on the desk and rests his chin in his palm as he mindlessly scrolls through the search results.

 _"_ _Ios' image has long been linked to holiday sun, sea, and sex, with a reputation for nonstop booze-fueled partying."_

Killian would have kept scrolling, but the sudden and loud voice piercing his ear startles him enough to nearly knock the mouse off the desk.

"Christ," he mumbles, sitting up, trying to move away from his roommate but a heavy hand on his shoulder keeps him in place.

"This is it, this is where we're going," Will declares, finger pointing to the Lonely Planet link on the screen. Killian rolls his eyes and means to return to his task, but Will isn't having it. He leans over Killian to grab the mouse.

"Bugger off, mate," Killian grumbles, trying to shrug off his friend but Will is, as ever, persistent.

"I don't think so, mate," Will parrots and proceeds to usher Killian out of the way, taking up residence at the computer and by the way, declaring himself better suited to decide what Killian should do with the sad remains of his unfortunate decision.

"What's this? Where're we going?" David asks entering the room, oblivious to Killian's plight, three beer bottles dripping with condensation between his fingers.

Killian casts a hopeless glance at Will who remains engrossed with bright images of sandy beaches, aquamarine waters and a hillside checkered with white powdered buildings, azure windows and purple flowers, their bright petals peeking out here and there.

Who was he kidding? He wasn't going to accomplish anything today anyway, so he does the next best thing. He gladly accepts the cold APA, the alcohol providing a momentary distraction from his current predicament. Maybe if he drinks enough, he may find more humor in his friend's annoying pursuit.

Meanwhile, Will simply holds his hand back for the beer, eyes never leaving the screen.

Killian drops to the couch, kicking his feet up onto the old milk crate coffee table and closes his eyes. He feels the couch dip as David joins him. Instead of asking again, David nudges his shoulder. Killian lazily rolls his head to watch Will, now busy typing something on the keyboard.

"Ask, travel agent Willy over there," he says as he twists the cap off his beer. They look over to see Will flipping them the bird just as the printer grunts and comes to life.

Killian looks across the room to the dustbin- he thinks of the steaks in the fridge.

"Last to sink a cap mans the grill tonight?" he asks to no one in particular as he turns the beer cap over between his fingers.

Will turns and without a word sinks his cap on his first try, he returns to the computer.

David is next and lands it just as quickly.

Killian snorts, his luck seems about par for the course.

"Why do I even bother?"

He throws his cap, but it bounces off the edge and rolls under the TV stand.

"Make sure mine is rare, pal," Will mumbles wheeling his chair over the printer. Killian drops his head to the back of the couch.

Will joins them moments later, sandwiching Killian between the two. He hands David the printout and wraps his arm around Killian's shoulders, giving him a rough, unwanted squeeze.

"Chin up, buttercup. We decided you weren't allowed to be a sad sap anymore, remember?"

Killian slides his uninspired gaze to Will.

" _You_ decided that. _I_ rather enjoy wallowing," Killian contends, but it's half-hearted at best. In all honesty, he didn't know where he'd be without the two idiots at his sides.

Suddenly, David is coughing, dropping the paper in his lap. Killian does his best to help, giving him a few thumps on the back as he gazes down at the –

"TOMORROW? We're leaving for Greece tomorrow? Have you lost your bloody mind?" Killian cries out, extracting himself from the couch, waving the reservation in front of Will.

Will for his part calmly rest his feet on the coffee table, crossed at the ankles, a serene smile on his face. He takes a deep pull from his beer and smacks his lips.

"You'll thank me once you get laid."

"I don't need to get laid."

Will raises a brow.

"I don't. And if I did, I can get laid here, in Boston. I, I don't –" But Will is already off the couch, plucking the paper from Killian's grasp and sauntering down the hallway.

"Where's the fun in that? Best go find your passport, Jones," he calls out.

Killian looks to David for help, but now that he has his coughing under control he offers him a shrug.

"I should call my boss," he says, and it's so matter of fact, Killian is left staring after him when he leaves the room at a loss for words.

 _Well, fuck._ Where the hell did he put his passport?

 **xo**

Having found a spot near a window, Emma melts into her seat, eyes casually wandering over the various ships in Port. She imagines all the beautiful destinations they are headed to and then brings to mind her own destination. A family run hotel with glowing reviews, an inviting blue pool and words like brilliant and wonderful attached to it. She is ready for wonderful.

She pulls out a notebook from her pack and opens it to a new page.

 _Ios, Greece - Day 1_

She underlines the heading a few times but pauses when the engines rumble to life, a low hum below deck, signaling the ferry readying itself for departure.

A burst of laughter comes from the other side of the room, and she smiles at the group of what looks to be students settling themselves down in a cluster of seats, no doubt bubbling with excitement for the trip to come. Ios, after all, does have a reputation for its nightlife and fun but Emma was also promised isolated beaches and winding footpaths to discover.

She plans to do a little of both.


End file.
